


please don't go, (i'll eat you whole) i love you so

by celaenos



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cartinelli Week, F/F, Obessive Love, Red Room (Marvel), Spy!Angie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 19:49:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4577634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celaenos/pseuds/celaenos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You get over what you can't have faster that you get over what you could; and we shouldn’t always get what we think we want.</p>
            </blockquote>





	please don't go, (i'll eat you whole) i love you so

**Author's Note:**

> the warning is really more of an in case thing. i'm not sure anything is actually graphically violent enough to warrant it, but it's a possibility. 
> 
> warnings: there are a few minimal violent descriptions, hints towards brainwashing and characters not knowing what is real and what is not. 
> 
> the title is from the song [breezeblocks](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rVeMiVU77wo) by alt-j. which i only just found and is creepy and awesome as fuck.

Peggy walks into the automat and Angie plasters a smile onto her face. Makes it a little too excited. Skips her feet a bit as she crosses the room and greets her. Peggy responds in kind, she always does. Befriending the woman had been easy. Angie barely even had to put in the effort, just smiled wide and talked up the hometown Brooklyn girl thing. Gave her food and company and earned her trust.

 _Mostly_ earned her trust. Peggy still won't offer up anything but The Phone Company for her work. She isn't shy about being ex-military, but any attempts Angie makes to get more out of the Brit are promptly squashed.

It's aggravating, but not impossible.

Angie chatters on about a failed audition that she never went on, gains Peggy's sympathy and gives her the biggest slice of cheery pie. She goes back over to the counter with a wink, talking about Peggy's great legs. It gets the blush out of the woman that she was shooting for.

It's only a matter of time.

…

…

Angie convinces Peggy to move into the Griffith with her. Makes sure she's got an apartment close and slips in whenever she can. Peggy doesn't leave anything useful lying around. Angie didn't expect her to, but it doesn't hurt to familiarize herself with the woman further anyhow.

Angie pauses at an old worn out photograph of a man on Peggy's dresser. The man before he became Captain America. Angie studies the photograph. Wonders just what Peggy Carter saw in this pathetic little boy. She knows that he became impressive to look at once the serum entered his veins, but before that? What did Peggy see in him then?

Angie trails her fingers along Peggy's dresses. Almost tries a deep blue one on. She's never gotten to own something so lovely, never gotten to own anything at all. The girls of the Red Room have no possessions, only loyalty and duty. Angie tears a small hole into the fabric with her fingernail. Grins at it before slipping out of the apartment as if she'd never been there at all.

…

…

Peggy stays out all night long with Mr Fancy again. Angie follows at a distance. They blow up half the river and Peggy comes down to breakfast with a limp the next morning. Angie offers her extra scrambled eggs off her own plate. Beaming when Peggy gives her a small grateful smile.

“Sure thing English. You look like you need it more'n me right now.”

“Angie, you're a dream.”

“Don't you forget it,” Angie winks. Thinks about how easy it would be just to strangle Peggy in her sleep and be done with it. Her fingers wrapped around Peggy's neck tight. Peggy's breathing going heavy underneath her. Angie pops another bite of toast into her mouth with a flourish and fakes a laugh at something Sarah says.

…

…

Pretending to be a waitress is tiresome. Men leer, the tips are pathetic, and the work is harder than it looks at first glance. Angie gets sick of it fast, but, she is a good and loyal soldier, and she grits her teeth and gets on with it.

She finds herself lighting up with excitement whenever Peggy comes into the automat. She tells herself that it's just a relief from the monotony of her cover job. A moment to do _real_ work, what she was brought here to do: to gather intel on Peggy and the SSR.

A part of her knows that is not the whole truth of things. She watches Peggy saunter into a room like she belongs. Stares at the red lipstick stains that she leaves on her coffee mugs for far longer than she should. Studies Peggy's hands and wonders what they would feel like on her. Hitting. Punching. Clawing. Grasping Angie tightly and refusing to let go.

Angie bites at the insides of her cheeks until she is bleeding. Remembers why she is here. That Peggy Carter is her enemy.

…

…

Angie kills a man and steals his pistol. It's an automatic. She itches to use it the minute that it's in her hands, but stows it away with her socks instead. The dead man, she leaves under her bed. She'll deal with him once Miriam Fry has drifted off to sleep. Angie points the gun at herself in the mirror. Narrows her eyes. Whistles. Then, she goes out into the hall and bangs on Peggy's door. Asks her if she's coming to dinner, or if she wants some Pepto.

Peggy slips out of her apartment and gives Angie a smile that's forced. She's up to something. Angie leans close and prattles on about dinner rolls. Peggy disappears back to her room with enough food for two. Angie wonders who she's got stowed away in there. Wonders if it's a man. Mr Fancy perhaps. Thinks about him putting his hands on Peggy.

She considers different ways of barging in and killing him all throughout dinner.

…

…

Angie spells out English words in her head. Rolls them around on her tongue like her mama used to do for her when she was little and teaching her to practice. ( _Is that real?_ )

Rolls them around on her tongue like Nicola used to do for her while they practiced. Pressed together into Angie's bed until the matrons came around and locked them up to their own. ( _That can't be true._ )

Rolls them around on her tongue like no one ever taught her. Like she taught herself. ( _She doesn't know._ )

She'll never know which one is real. Some days, it doesn't matter. She rolls the words around on her tongue all the same. Speaks with perfect, unaccented English.

…

…

For a laugh, or due to boredom, Angie actually goes to an audition for once.

She knows that she has a good voice. She got slapped for using it more than once in the Red Room. Now, she opens up her mouth and belts. Loud and melodic and echoing into the theatre. Putting smiles onto all the old white men's faces in front of her.

She does a little soft shoe to mix things up. Mimicking what she's seen in the picture shows. She only knows how to dance ballet.

(She's not even wholly sure that she knows how to do that. Not really.)

The casting directors give her a callback, and she finds that she's genuinely excited to tell Peggy later that afternoon. Peggy's face breaks out into a grin, and she leans forward, grabbing the back of Angie's head, pulling her close, and kissing her on the forehead. Angie can smell her perfume. She basks in the moment for as long as it lasts. Confused as to why her face feels hot, why the smell of Peggy makes her want to be closer, to yank her back and keep their faces against each others.

Peggy pulls back, beaming at Angie. “I'm so proud of you,” she says.

Angie imagines shooting her between the eyes until her face feels normal again.

…

…

Peggy takes Angie up on her offer to have pie and schnapps. They end up sitting on top of Peggy's bed. Their limbs tangled together as they sprawl out and get comfortable. Angie’s left leg is draped over Peggy’s right; their sides touching. Angie has to work very hard not to squirm at the contact. Peggy is only wearing a thin nightgown made of silk and her robe. If Angie were to turn her head a fraction and look, she would be able to see Peggy’s breasts rise and fall with her breathing. Their shape is just discernible from the way that her robe has slipped partway off one shoulder.

But her gaze remains straight ahead. Staring idly at the flowered wallpaper as she sips her drink. She isn't looking. And she won't. The situation is dangerous. Angie can feel it in the way that she can always feel danger when it’s near. Her senses having been trained for years and years to twist her to face it. Head on and without fear.

It’s dangerous because they’re far too close, and not wearing enough clothes, and drunk. Angie is not supposed to get drunk. Isn't allowed to drink at all. If her handler found out about the schnapps, she'd get the beating of a lifetime. He'd bring in that man with the metal arm and force her to fight him. None of the girls have ever been able to hold their own for long in a fight against him. There is a reason they make him train the girls when he is awake.

Angie's words are beginning to slur slightly, and Peggy is enunciating hers far more clearly than usual. Picking each one out slowly and with great care.

Angie doesn't stop her head from rolling over and resting on Peggy's shoulder. Though she knows that she should. Peggy hums at her and takes a large sip of the schnapps, passing the bottle over to Angie. Angie turns it so that her lips rest on the exact spot Peggy's had been on only a moment before. Peggy giggles at her drunkenly when Angie dribbles a little schnapps down her chin.

“Tell me something Angie,” Peggy requests.

“Tell you what?”

“Something about yourself. Anything.”

She was a ballerina with the Bolshoi. One of the best dancers in the school.

Her mama used to sing her to sleep, brushing her hair and kissing her forehead.

She killed a girl when she was seven. Snapped her neck just as she had been taught.

She kissed a girl when she was twelve, hiding in the corridors from prying eyes.

Her name is Angela Luisa Martinelli. After her mother.

Her name is Angelica Melikova. She has no mother.

Her hair was red once. Blonde once. Black once. She doesn't know what color it was when she was born.

There is a scar under her breasts from a knife. It was put there by the closest thing she ever had to a father.

She is a good and loyal soldier. She will do anything for her country.

Her orders one day are going to be to kill Peggy Carter.

She doesn't know if she can.

Some of these are lies. All of these are lies. None of these are lies.

Angie smiles at Peggy. Swigs the schnapps deeply and wipes at her mouth. “You know me English, I'm an open book. I've told you pretty much all there is to tell.”

Peggy hums at her again, eyes searching in that dangerous way that Angie has grown to be wary of. She wants to tell Peggy everything. Wants to ask her why that is. To ask what Peggy is doing to her to make her question everything that she has ever known. Angie presses her lips tight together to keep the words inside. It doesn't matter that Angie doesn't want to kill Peggy Carter. Doesn't matter that the very thought feels like being shot at. Angie exaggerates a drunken grin at Peggy and rises from her bed. Moving over to the doorway and bidding Peggy goodnight without looking at her again.

It doesn't matter what Angie wants. She can't have Peggy. That much she is well aware of. None of this is real. It's all a trick. A game. A long con that will either end with Peggy dead or hating Angie. You get over what you can’t have faster that you get over what you could; and we shouldn’t always get what we think we want.

…

…

Peggy's own agents come looking for her, and Angie lies for her.

Protects her.

Peggy swoops into Angie's apartment and wraps her up in a tight hug. Calls her marvelous. Won't stop staring down at her lips.

So, Angie kisses her.

Peggy is surprised, but kisses back for a moment. Then, she stops. “You're wearing my brand,” she exclaims as she falls unconscious.

Angie cradles her as she falls to the floor. Brushes a stray hair out of her face and hums a tune that she doesn't remember the words to.

…

…

Peggy wakes up boiling mad. She hates Angie, just like Angie knew that she would.

They fight, and Angie finally feels like herself.

Peggy fights brutal, grabbing anything within reach and walloping Angie with it.

Angie kicks Peggy into the wall. Grinning at her through bleeding lips. “Isn't this more fun?” she asks. Peggy looks at her like she is insane. Possibly, she _is._ Angie doesn't know much, but she knows that little girls who are taught to be killers aren't the norm. Knows that it messes with your head. Knows she can't trust her own brain anyway. Hasn't been able to her whole life.

“Why?” Peggy asks, punching Angie hard in the stomach.

“I've got orders,” Angie explains. “It's not personal English.”

“Stop calling me that.”

Angie hears her handler driving up to the building. She stops fighting. Steps close to Peggy slowly. Leans in and presses her bloody lips to Peggy's pristine ones. “Thank you,” she says to a confused Peggy. Then, leaps out the window and crashes into her handlers car. He drives away, and Peggy watches Angie from the window the entire time.

…

…

Once upon a time, there was a girl called Angela Martinelli. She was born in Brooklyn and wanted to be an actress. She fell in love with a girl called Peggy Carter.

She was not real.

She was more real than anything else.

There is no room for love in the Red Room. There are only small needle marks on flesh. Bruises on skin. Pointe shoes on feet until you bleed.

The Red Room bleeds the brightest red there is.

Angelica Melikova was born in The Red Room.

Angie Martinelli died there.

Peggy Carter will never see the insides of it, and for that, Angie allows herself to smile. 


End file.
